Finding Your Roots

This Easter was different for our family because in the last few months we’ve acquired some new members.

Through adoption.

I had no idea that my aunt had a daughter whom she gave up for adoption in her early twenties. This was well before I was born. It was never really talked about, and when she passed away a few years ago, I wasn’t able to make the funeral because I was in England. So if it was discussed during that time, I missed out.

Well, a few months ago, my cousin calls my mom. He tells her how he was approached while doing gardening in his front yard. The person bashfully asked his name, and delivered some surprising news: I think I’m your sister.

That day sparked a family get-together, where we met my aunt’s daughter and her husband for the first time. When I saw her, it was like looking at my aunt. Our family sat around the table, and I peeked in as my new cousin poured over old family photos. (I attempted to remove the embarrassing photos of me as a child, with my overlarge glasses.)

It was a reunion, a beautiful reunion. She didn’t feel like a stranger, and it made me realize how deep the bonds of family can run.

It was a joy to learn she had a wonderful, happy upbringing. And how now, after so many years, she felt like she was ready to discover where she came from.

There’s something in us that needs to find our roots. To know where we come from. Years go by, but the pull to be with family never leaves.

I’m glad she was brave enough to seek that out. Now, at family gatherings, our house is fuller because of it.